Rhiannon
by Megami no Inazumi
Summary: CHAPTER THIRTEEN UP A Matrix assasin learns the ways of the Matrix, running into several of our friends, like Smith and Neo.
1. A2060474100

A/N: I just saw the movie, plus I'm writing a speech on it. Alternate universe, so don't yell at me if it's not "in the box." Another thing, I'm never in the box, so you don't have to ask me to think outside the box. BTW, where is the box?

"Sing."

Sing? Why? There is no sound coming from my lips. I have no lips. You? You have lips. You sing. I'll listen. But to what? You make no sound either. Why? You aren't really here. How? You're in a game. Me? I'm a part of the game. My job? I'm just waiting for the player and his party to come… Then I tell them some things and join them. I hope to at least. If the agents find me, I'm dead. And so are they, and you. I hate choir practice, almost as much as I hate you. 

"He to whom praises belong," I sing. I'm singing, damn you, so don't glare at me like that.

~@~

The stairs creaked under her feet as she tromped up to finish changing her clothes. She was wearing her pajama pants, but she still had on the shirt she had worn that day. Her mother had picked it out.

 The stairway was a switchback stair. It went up into the wall, turned ninety degrees, went about three feet forward, and turned another ninety degrees. 180 in all, making one switch back stair. 

A voice whispered across her brain. "A2060474100," it said. "You have not filed your weekly check-in report. Do so now or face termination."

She sighed. Thinking back, she said, "Lemme get to the bathroom first."

"Now," said the voice.

"But the woman will freak out," she thought back, continuing up the stairs.

"We can hack her memory," the voice responded.

"If you hack it, you might mess something up!"

"File your—"

A2060474100 glared at the mirror as she approached it. Her eyes flashed gold (she had always loved how they did that when she hacked), and the mirror liquefied. Its surface raced fluidly to reform, creating a window with a man on the other side. He was in a black suit, and was apparently the one to whom she had just been speaking.

She could feel his glare though his shades.

"A2060474100," said the man. "Your scheduled weekly report is three point one four seven hours late. What is your explanation?"

"She dragged me off to Lauren Ralph Lauren," the girl said calmly, indicating her mother. She continued, "That store is the most—"

"Stay on topic."

She sighed. "If it were possible," she muttered.

"A2060474100, what is your report?"

"Oh for Christ's sake, Doe!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. She turned her back, and then walked back over to the window. "You know what my name is! Use it and save time!"

"I am _Agent_ Doe, Rhiannon, and you will give your report or face termination!"

"You terminate me, and they terminate you, Doe. I'm the most sophisticated assassin they've got right now, and until I'm even _old_ enough to go rogue, the one who terminates me is a dead man. As to my report," she continued, "what is there to report? I'm at a bloody high school!"

"Give the report."

Rhiannon seemed to calm down, but her reckless grin and clenched fists only made her look wilder and crazier than she had already. "Alright," she said through grinding teeth. "There are no _anomalies_ at my _high school_," she said sarcastically. "No one running around trying to save the universe. The only one _you_'d be interested in is this one girl who thinks she's Jean Grey."

"Really?" said the man. Getting suspicious, he added, "Tell me more about her."

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DOE! THERE IS NO MUTANT CHASING YOUR ASS TO SAVE EARTH! And besides, even if she _did_ find out you're the one who made Madeline, it's been long enough that she won't come and whup your ass for it."

She paused for air before starting anew, "She's a damn schizophrenic, Doe. Even if she _does_ reject the system, she'd be the same way outside of it. And I'll bet those rebels wouldn't even know there's a character called Jean Grey in the first place!"

"Do you think she will reject the system?" said Doe, completely serious.

"ARE YOU AN IDIOT?!" Rhiannon yelled. "She's just crazy! She is not your precious 'One'! You don't have a cow every time some bozo thinks he's Thomas Jefferson, do you? No! So why freak out when some girl thinks she's Jean Grey!"

At a near loss for words, Agent Doe salvaged the conversation by saying, "Give me your report, without emotion."

Rhiannon sighed, "No anomalies this week, Captain Crunch. No anomalies next week, either. Or the week after that, or the week after that. Just make these reports once a month, and you won't have to see me as much."

After a moment of thought, Doe said, "Done. Any other requests?"

"Make that human I call 'mother' let me wear whatever I want. And reorganize my room. And let me get faster DSL. And cooler deserts. And no more choir practice. And a longer training time. And permission to hack for time so I can get more sleep—"

"You hone your skills by hacking, but you must live within the rules the humans do."

"Damn!"

"As to the human," he said with disgust, "you can have whatever you want."

"Yes!"

"Now I am going to check in with a few other A-lines, have your report ready next Sunday—"

"Next month," Rhiannon corrected.

"Right. Goodbye, A2060474100. And stay out of trouble."

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

A/N: What do you mean what just happened? Rhiannon is a computer programmed assassin-in-training. Agent Doe is… well he's an agent, duh! And if you haven't seen the movie yet, two things.. Why are you reading this? And the anomaly is the One, aka Neo. Note for the slow: This happens before Neo becomes the One. The rest happens afterwards. But with exams coming….trust me. You can wait for this one. We all need to be studying, although I daresay I shan't be.

PS: It's been corrected…


	2. Of Biology and Hardware

A/N: So I lied…. Anyways, here's the next chapter. I hope…

I believed one thing/But you had a fling/You turned me into a fighter/Now I'm a smiter/I'll take a lighter/You'll burn brighter/You wanna fight me?/I'll take your heart out/I'll make you find out/What it means/To live and die/To see the end/But miss the chance/To stay in peace/I wanna end this/I wanna bring this war/To a close/Stop the bloodshed/Free the homestead/Tears of lead/My heart has bled/I'll fight you

You made me what I am/But this has been a sham/I don't like you/I'm nothing like you/I wanna fight you/I wanna bite you

Are you there?/Can you hear me?/This'll make me/Or it'll break me./Beat you back/Make you crack/Make you bleed/Make you scream/I don't like you/I wanna fight you/I wanna end this rage inside me/I cannot see you/I cannot hear you/I do not fear you/Free my soul/Fill the hole/Kill the mole/Burn the scroll/I'll fight you

You made me all that I am/But this has been a sham/I don't like you/I'm nothing like you/I wanna fight you/I wanna bite you

I'm gonna fight you/I'm gonna right you/You can't hide/You will fall/Rage against you/Rage against you/I will fight you/I'll fight you

~@~

The car pulsed with the sound coming from the speakers. The new group, Butcherz Blok, had put out a song that seemed to fit the rage everyone had against everyone else, but Neo found it hauntingly true. _A cloudy day inside the Matrix_, he thought.

The people passed, minding their own business, living their lives out inside a pod with their minds strapped into a computer. He was looking for a code, a small code that would open a certain locked door to a certain apartment with a certain disk inside.

_But_ why _do I need the disk?_ he thought. _How would I read it? And what's on it? Ah, but he said 'when things get outta hand' and things are definitely outta hand. I guess I'll just get it._

He pulled into a parking lot, turned off the engine, and took off his seat belt. He waited for several minutes, lost in thought. He finally came back to is senses and looked around him. He was in a parking lot next to a school, the bell had just rung, and a hoard of girls had come flooding out of the building. They all had their backpacks and messenger bags and brown paper sack lunches. They were finding places on the lawn to sit and have lunch and chat with their friends.

One group came trouping out last, fake galloping and knocking their pens on their binders, quoting Monty Python. They went to the far end of the lawn and set up camp beneath an old oak tree. Neo could not hear what they were saying, but he felt that it would be worth listening to. He "tuned" his ears to listen and he caught the last part of a conversation.

"Oh but we know you want a sex god, Martini!" one girl said.

The others laughed. 

Another said, "But you want one, too, Roger. I'll bet you a jar of my jelly, you do!"

The girl who spoke first, (and was apparently called Roger) answered, "You know me!"

"Hey ya'll shut up! I gotta teach Scotch here about DNA! You can listen if you want," another girl said. "OKAY! So first you got yourself a strand of DNA, and it's a code, m'kay?"

A blonde who had 'Scotch' written on her forehead answered, "Yeah, I get that part."

"Kay, so you get the A! T! G! C! (she jumped to the side at every letter) part right?"

"Mm-hmm," she responded.

"HEY! RHIANNON!" someone yelled from the other side of the lawn.

"YEAH?!" the demonstrator yelled back.

"COME READ MY STORY!!!"

"I'M TEACHING BIOLOGY, KATE!"

"HEY, HEY, HEY! WAIT FOR ME!" Kate yelled back. Then she yelled, "HEY EVERYONE! REE IS GIVING BIO HELP!!!"

Ten minutes later, Rhiannon was putting her brown ponytail back up, having just explained transcription and translation to about twenty people, most of whom she knew. Neo stood watching her, something was strange about her…he couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt it in his gut. He was about to look at the code, but…

~@~

The bell rang, or rather beeped, and the girls on the lawn moseyed back inside to finish the school day. Rhiannon sighed, although English class was fun, the internet never worked in that classroom. 

When she got to class, she perked up. Two of her buddies were in her class, one in front and the other behind. She sat down and watched all of the girls pull out their laptops and powercords, their pens (although they rarely used them, they all still had them), and fiddled with the antennae on their internet cards, hoping the white and blue box on the wall would give them a good signal. 

Rhiannon paused to look at her laptop. It had several colorful stickers on the lid. There was a tree (she didn't quite know why), a 'boys are stupid, throw rocks at them' sticker, a Spongebob Squarepants sticker, a St. Claire's School bumper sticker, a Ravenclaw emblem, a 'Jesus loves you, but I'M his favorite' sticker, and several smaller stickers of Garfield, Snoopy, Chococat, and several dragons. She looked at it harder, and harder, and still harder as she tried to see what the code was for that dragon in the upper left; it was just too brown.

"Hey, Ree, did we have to memorize anything? Because I didn't…" Rhiannon's friend Caryn asked.

Rhiannon laughed. Her laughs had always been full, merry, hearty, jovial, good. She said, "If we did, I didn't either"

The bell rang, and Ms. Winola rushed into the room, muttering something about a chair. She took roll, and class began, although they probably only got ten minutes of their work done. Rhiannon managed to get the internet for about ten minutes, long enough to download a Harry Potter screensaver and a new Ravenclaw background. She spent half of the class whipping around to look out the window behind her; she just _knew_ someone was watching her….only not.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

A/N: Alright, no more cliff notes for you! Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go study for the Sassafrass, she thinks that knowing eleven dates by heart is good for our little lives. Stupid woman…. She thinks she's a history teacher, too! (PS anyone think that St. Claire's sounds like something else, too?)


	3. Envy is a Sin

Chapter Three

"She is the first now," said the one.

"Yes, maybe she will be of the more compliant type," said the second.

"She has not come to know her powers yet," said the third.

"She does not know her own nature," said the second.

"If she doesn't come to her powers naturally," began the first.

"We will have to force them upon her," finish the second.

"That is what killed the first," said a fourth.

"We did not wait long enough," said the first.

"We should wait longer," said a fifth.

"There is talk of the anomaly among the rebels," said the second.

"We must have at least one assassin ready," said the third.

"There is always talk of the anomaly among the rebels," said the fourth.

"This time they believe they've found it," said the second.

"They always think that," said the fifth.

"This time they have a subject, and we know who he is," said the first.

"Then why do you not go after him?" asked the fourth.

"We already have a team on the case," the third responded.

"It sounds to me like you are accepting defeat," said a sixth, who had just walked up.

"We can only do so much, and too much is not a problem," said the first.

"What of the other ones?" asked a seventh.

"We will leave them to themselves," answered the third.

"They are solid program," said the second.

"The first two were created from humans," hissed an eighth.

"The other two hundred forty are programs," said a ninth.

"Do we know if they will come into their missions soon?" asked the sixth.

"No, we do not," said the first.

"What do we know about the first two?" asked the eighth.

"They are partly human," said the first.

"They have emotions and attachments," said the third.

"They can write their own codes," said the fourth.

"And they can plug them into the Matrix," said the sixth.

"They can change the Matrix?" asked the fifth.

"No, but they can change certain codes," said the seventh.

"What does that mean?" asked the first.

"They could give themselves wings," said the tenth, who had just walked into the room.

"They can fly?" asked the other men.

"No. But they can create things that will fly for them," said the tenth.

"Can they re-write programs?" asked the first.

"Yes, but barely. They can only change a few symbols," said the tenth.

"Will they be able to do what the anomaly will be able to do?" asked several men.

"No, but they will be a fair match," said the tenth.

"Then why do we only have one of these super-beings?" asked the sixth.

"Because they are still only human," said the fourth.

"What can the programs do?" asked several men.

"They can take over humans," said the fifth.

"They can open any door," said the ninth.

"They can hear through three feet of steel," said the eighth.

"They can write codes," began the first.

"And insert them into the Matrix," finished the second.

"Which is superior?" asked the sixth.

"We are," responded the men.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-


	4. A2036832917

Chapter Four

WILL SOMEONE PUH-LEASE EXPLAIN TO ME JUST _WHY_ I WAS NOT INFORMED OF THIS?! HMM? ANYONE CARE TO TELL ME WHY?

The room remained silent. The whole room. It wasn't a room. It was a code, green, flowing, cool, crisp, clear, harsh, bold, lifeless, heartless, there, real. If any mage had had the ability to travel through time, and had wanted to look inside the Matrix, he would have seen the same things as you would outside of it. Cool, crisp, clear, flowing, magic. Running through everything. Outside the Matrix, what is alive is green, first and foremost. What is blue is also blue. What is not alive is no color, it is whatever color it looks like to a normal eye. A chunk of amethyst will always be purple, it's code, it's spell, it's force, it's nature, it's name, will always be purple. 

Inside the matrix, people have gold codes; everything else has a green code. 

But the pity of being able to see the code was that your code was forever different. You had green coding, so that you could see the other coding. You were one of the few whose code was you. Brown was the symbol that said, "This is brown, this is brown, brown, brown, brown…" Clear-cut, crisp, bold was the symbol that said, "This is a slightly rough, crisp material. Coarse, crisp, clear…"

The code moved, she saw the symbols run through the agents; theirs were all the same. Green, green, green, green, cruel, green, cold, green, heartless, green, professional, green, but occasionally a gold symbol, a simple gold symbol consisting of three lines, like an upside-down 'y' with a crosspiece, it read loud and clear, HUMAN. 

She looked at the rest of the A-lines, all two hundred forty of them. They had similar codes. She watched them, closely. One had been terminated; she had avoided all contact with any Matrix personnel for thirteen months. There had been two hundred forty-two girls, A-lines, killing assassins, now there were two hundred forty-one. Of the two hundred forty-two A-lines, only two could read the code. They were the first two, and now there was one left. Rhiannon had been hoping to see her at the yearly meeting, so that she could know what her code looked like, know if she was alive, know if she was real. But now her only hope of knowledge was gone. The only one who was like her was gone. Eliminated, obliterated, destroyed, broken, eradicated, annihilated, desolated, razed, wrecked, murdered, slaughtered. And what did the agents have to say? Nothing. What did her fellows have to say? Nothing. What did Rhiannon have to say? Plenty.

However, Rhiannon was smart, very, very smart. She held her tongue and kept her vicious, flying thoughts to herself._ How could they? Those damn agents could not have done that without permission from the Programmers. And that meant, the Programmers had had a problem with her, because the Programmers love their A-lines obsessively, and although the younger the A-line was, the more advanced she was, the older A-lines were guarded religiously. No-one could harm an A-line without facing serious, severe consequences._

Rhiannon knew that she had been much closer coding wise to the first A-line. They both had a profound knowledge of computer technology, they both had strong reactions to anything, they both could read the code, and they both could write their own codes and slip them into the Matrix. She also knew that if the Programmers had had a problem with her because of one of these traits, she herself did not stand a chance if it looked like she had issues with the Matrix.

One A-line decided to answer Rhiannon's fury. "It is not the business of an A-line to know the doings of the agents," she said, in a high, child's voice. She could not have been more than eight, but she was obviously attached to the Matrix. She continued, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were questioning the decisions of your superiors."

Rhiannon's blood was about to boil over. "And just who, pray tell, are you?" she seethed, trying not to shout.

The little girl answered, "A2036832917."

"Well, then, 917," Rhiannon began, "if we are not to know the business of the agents, then why do they know of our doings? And if we are not to know of the business of the agents, then why do the Programmers, or anyone else for that matter, have the right to know what we, or others do?"

The little girl jumped up on her chair, "Are you saying the Matrix is flawed?!"

A few younger A-lines cheered and several clapped.

"Actually," Rhiannon answered coolly, "I'm saying that to function properly, the parts must know the mission of the whole so that nothing is done twice and things are not forgotten. We should all know the doings of every other system involved in the Matrix so that we can all do our best jobs."

Most of her side of the room cheered, applauded, agreed aloud, or nodded. They were mostly older girls, ranging from twelve to fifteen, with Rhiannon being the oldest at sixteen. None of them liked the newer A-lines very much; they were too upstart-ish, too brown-nosed, too… yekch! 

Little apple-polisher retorted, "The Bible says not to let your left hand know what the right is doing!"

The newer A-lines agreed, either by clapping or by voicing their own opinions.

"Ah, but the Bible also says that a house divided cannot stand!" Rhiannon said back sardonically, thinking all the while, _I'm gonna kick your ass_.

Her side was getting riled up. "These upstart newbies…" was the general thought.

"The Bible is poppycock codswallop! It's not true! Why are you quoting it?" the little one said.

Several girls on her side made snide remarks such as, "Yeah, why?" and, "She knows her stuff," and, "You gotta way of putting things, you tell 'em!"

Rhiannon laughed aloud, maliciously, cruelly, coldly. It took no more than four seconds before the rest of the older girls realized the little one's mistake. They're laughs echoed Rhiannon's: they were cold laughs, empty, mirthless laughs, full of despicable hate and anger.

"You realize of course, little one," she said devilishly between laughs, "You _are_ the one who brought up the Bible in the first place."

"If you think you're so big and bad!" the younger girl yelled, "Then I dare you to fight me!"

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

A/N: Gomen, gomen, gomen for leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I sincerely must study! I will update ASAP so please don't be mad… Gomen nasai, I _am_ so very sorry


	5. Better Than Mudwrestling

Chapitre Trois (Chapter Three, en francais)

"It's your hide that'll be whipped," Rhiannon replied icily.

"CHICKEN!" yelled the little girl.

Rhiannon's blood went cold. No-one had ever _dared_ call her that, ever. She saw herself react harshly to 917's challenge, and she lost all control of her body.

"Agents," she began, as she floated up and began to circle to the center of the large theater-in-the-round, "I request a playing field."

One agent stood as if to stop the fight, but one beside him pulled him down. "She is growing into her powers," he hissed.

All at once, a green beam shot through the room, creating a smooth, translucent surface about three above the agents' heads. It solidified and dark green circles and lines graced the surface like that of a nautical map found in a submarine, although this was no map. The little one looked as if she were about to back down, realizing that the challenge was being taken seriously, but the approving, encouraging glances from her supporters gave her the courage.

She winced and jumped through the glass.

It allowed her safe passage. An agent did the same. He walked to the center of the "field" and began to make the rules.

"You will not leave the arena until one of you has yielded," he said. "You will choose six weapons with which to fight. There will be no concealed weapons. There is no time limit. No one will be permitted to aid you should you fall into distress."

He paused. The girls nodded. He continued, "Choose your weapons now!"

At once two wooden racks appeared on either end of the room. Rhiannon watched herself walk over to a rack, although she herself had no idea what to do.

"Katana!" Rhiannon heard herself yell.

A katana appeared in one slot on the rack.

"Egyptian daggers!"

Two daggers appeared, hanging on a peg by the leather cord that bound then together. They looked like spikes attached to hilts. 

"Rowan wand!" Rhiannon shouted. She had no idea what the thing controlling her was going to do with one.

"Rapid fire crossbow! Birch Staff! Slingshot!"

_What the hell?_ she thought. _I don't even know what that is!_ She got her answer, though. In the fifth slot a six-foot long wooden stick about two inches in diameter appeared.

The little girl, following Rhiannon's lead, was shouting out her own weapons. She chose a shotgun, a machine gun, a long bow, a can of mace, a forty-five, and a rapier.

The agent walked to the center of the ring again. "Players! Three…. Two…. One…. Fight!" he yelled.

917 grabbed her machine gun and started firing, aiming at Rhiannon. But there's a funny thing about machine guns. They kick. And they also like to fire high. So 917 _started_ firing at Rhiannon, but ended up firing at the ceiling. Rhiannon smoothly blocked the first bullet with the staff. She tossed the staff back onto the rack and grabbed the katana. 

She pulled it from its sheath and flew into a fighting stance. 917 dropped the gun and grabbed her rapier. The gun dissolved. 

Rhiannon sprinted forward and then jumped high into the air. She spun to get a good force behind her attack, and then… she dropped. 917 just barely dodged, and tried to stab Rhiannon in the back. Rhiannon used her sword as a pole vault and flipped forward, launching herself into the wall. She only noticed at the last second and slammed into it. 

"Ow," she thought, although her body was twisting to do something else. She felt like she was riding a rollercoaster in the dark with giant swinging pendulums everywhere. Her stomach turned somersaults every time 917 aimed a blow at her.

917 tried to get another unfair hit, but Rhiannon blocked her just in time. They fought three times across the room before 917 got first blood. She nicked Rhiannon's left arm, leaving a small, but slightly painful cut. Rhiannon's body flipped away, and she tried to catch a look at her wound before her body went off again. There was a small bloodstain, but no cut.

917 was hunched over and had not moved. She looked up and smiled devilishly. Rhiannon sped forward, slashing left and then right, and then she jumped before she was halfway to 917. She spun, faster and faster, and she pulled her katana into two swords. She dropped into a new stance, more than prepared to do some major ass whooping. Using her left sword defensively, she attacked. 

917 found that her every block came only just in time and that she was unable to land a single blow on Rhiannon, who started rapping her over the knuckles at every opportunity.

Rhiannon saw herself beating up an eight-year-old, and she could not stop herself. She was almost pleased when the katana broke. Its pieces faded into the floor, just as the machine gun had. She felt herself flipping backwards to grab…what? She saw her hands snatch the staff, and she felt its strong wood in her hands, although she had no control over what it did. She could not stop the stick from nearly beating the girl senseless. 917 tried to fight back with the rapier, but was unable to because of Rhiannon's sheer speed. 

Rhiannon eventually managed to disarm 917. The rapier flew high over their heads, flipping end over end, before landing with the point embedded deep into the floor.

The girls raced to the weapon, and Rhiannon narrowly won. However, just as Rhiannon's hand closed on the hilt, it faded.

917 sprinted back to her rack, moving in a small blur. She seized the shotgun and started firing at Rhiannon. The girls moved faster, turning their deadly dance into a blur of lethal color, flitting above the heads of the spectators.

Pleased, the agents watched the duo dart about the strange glass, battling for their lives with only six weapons at their disposal. The A-lines watched in awe, for although they had moved that fast before, it only been once or twice and they had not controlled it.

Rhiannon's shot blocking moves had reduced the staff to splinters, and 917's wasteful firing had reduced her ammunition to zilch. Weapons down: three. Weapons to go: three.  

-}^^#~@~#^^{-


	6. Just Like the Movies

A/N: I gave up on the thirteen thing. But I still like reviews, they make me all warm and fuzzy inside! Even flames, although I've been lucky so far, I will even read a flame. Why? Because they can be helpful. Idunno… So, anyways, TADA! Now, off you go. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

The next round went quickly: Rhiannon lost her daggers to a shot of mace in the face, and the rocks for the slingshot quickly ran out, as did the can of mace.

917 and Rhiannon were fairly close to 917's rack when the round ended, so naturally, 917 reached her rack first. She ripped the long bow off the rack and shot her first arrow as the quiver slipped neatly onto her back. Rhiannon stylishly dodged it before she realized it was not aimed at her. 917 shot her arrow at Rhiannon's rack, neatly knocking the crossbow off and breaking the black box that contained its arrows. Rhiannon and 917 raced to the crossbow, but 917 won by miles.

"No!" shrieked Rhiannon, but the only sound escaping her mouth was a vile, evil hiss.

917 smirked and taunted her by saying, "And if I did this?" as she touched the crossbow's handle with a finger. It faded into the green glass floor. 917 laughed maliciously. She reached out for the rowan wand, Rhiannon's final weapon. Her fist closed around the wood of the wand…

And 917 received a nasty jolt of electric energy as punishment for touching the other player's rack. "OW!" she cried, rubbing her hand and pouting. She dropped her longbow, and it clattered on the glass floor. She bent down to pick it up, but it and the quiver faded into the air. "Shit no!" exclaimed 917 furiously. Looking up at the cackling Rhiannon, who greatly enjoyed instant karma, she said, "Fine. You just have to wait a few more seconds to die."

But 917 knew that she and Rhiannon were equal distances from their racks, and that they moved at similar speeds. They stood at a stalemate for several minutes, neither daring to begin to cross the glass. 917 broke the stillness with a swift sprint that instantly slipped into a blur. Rhiannon set off before 917 stole from sight, however, and moved directly into the rocketing speed she was just getting used to. 

Although she had no control over her body and was only watching from the sidelines, Rhiannon willed her body faster, as any spectator would. She was surprised to find it obey. She was so stunned that she almost did not notice that she was passing the rack. "STOP!" she shrieked. As she skidded across the floor, she snatched her last weapon, the wand, and turned, hearing her own voice for the first time since the match began. Realizing that she finally had control of her body, Rhiannon had only the basic idea of what to do with the wand, and she hoped it would work like it did in the books…

She concentrated as she dodged two of the bullets from 917's pistol, willing, no, praying that something would protect her. She concentrated harder and the bullets began ricocheting about two feet in front of her. She concentrated even harder and a blue orb began to glow around her. She concentrated a little harder and the orb began to crackle. She opened her eyes and the orb broke into hundreds of rapidly moving threads that slowly formed a ball of lightning surrounding its mistress. She screamed at her creation and it collapsed upon her.

Rhiannon felt every part of her change. Her wand was now useless; it had burned to nothing but white ash. Her hands tingled and vibrated with the lightning running through her. Her lips, toes, ears, and eyes were numb. She felt a darkness creeping over her. But even as she began to slip into unconsciousness, she felt her muscles tense with excitement. She felt almost as if she could jump over the Empire State Building in a nanosecond. And suddenly, every sensation was gone. She found herself on her feet.

She breathed out, and a few sparks flew from her mouth. 917 was petrified.

And so was she…

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

Don't you just hate me? Kukukuku, I hope I can post before August 8th, but it looks like I'll be chilling in Kansas for a while. With my computerless gran who lives in Nowheresville. (nothing against Kansas) *sigh* goodbye, civilization. goodbye, dear readers. Love y'all!

REVIEW!!!

: p


	7. Black Steel Hallways

A/N: ano… I know this is kinda short, but this is just filler for what happens next. It started out rather slow, I know, but after this it's gonna go pretty fast. I promise.

D/C: uh… I'm not Larry or Andy, so obviously, I place no claim on the Matrix, it's characters, or it's… Matrix-y-ness. Rhiannon is mine. And the character Doe is I guess, but he doesn't really have a character, so… 917 and the A-lines are all whims of my own imagination and a small cup of ice cream with chocolate sauce and the stress of finals. But, anyways, however it started, it continues due to reviews and a slice of my birthday cake. XP I have cake and you don't *taunts* meep! *dodges flying shoe*

The Continuation of: Rhiannon

~

One agent whispered to another, "4100 is going to kill 917."

"Then 917 was too weak," replied the other.

A third agent said, "You would let the humanoid win?"

"Stop them," snapped the second agent, obviously angered at being overruled.

The first agent leapt through the green glass. He motioned for the girls to come to the center of the court. When they reached him, he held up both of their arms, saying, "It is a draw due to the exhaustion of available weaponry."

Both sides of the A-lines below cheered, but Rhiannon's side cried longer and louder than the subdued and dejected A-lines who had supported 917. Everyone knew who won.

~@~

After the fight, Agent Doe escorted Rhiannon to a different part of the building, one that she had never seen. Which included most of the agency's headquarters, for that matter, but this area was something she could never have imagined. It was long and dark and steel and solid and cruel and cold and creepy and—_No more adjectives, Rhiannon calmly chided herself._

Agent Doe was leading her down a creepy black steel corridor, with no doors anywhere. Agent Doe was talking, telling her something about rules and times and meetings and things she couldn't give a damn about because she was too busy trying not to think about the one Powerpuff Girls episode where the Sandman gets stuck in the nightmare hallway—the one that goes on and on and on and then eyes start staring at you and—_None of that, dammit,_ Rhiannon scolded her overactive imagination. She was beginning to creep herself out. _You're being silly, Rhiannon. No reason to panic, you're just in a hallway_, she reassured herself, but then felt extraordinarily stupid and immature to be afraid of a hallway.

Agent Doe walked along the left side of the wall and stopped suddenly. He turned to Rhiannon, who nearly walked into him. She realized that he was still talking.

"And these are your quarters. You are expected in the conference room at six o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. There will be a meeting at eight in the same room, so if you are finished before then, doubtless you won't be, but if you are, you will need to return to the conference room at eight," said Doe in the same cruel monotone he always used to speak.

She was wondering about whether he ever had any other tones besides it and disgust when he asked if she had any questions.

After waiting for three seconds for an answer, Agent Doe said, "Goodnight," as he flicked from sight.

"Wait!" cried Rhiannon, but it was too late; Agent Doe was already gone. "Shit! How do I get into my bloody room?!"

She waited for a few seconds for an answer before violently kicking the wall. "Dammit!" she cursed, turning and slamming her back against the wall. She slid down it, mumbling such things that would make a sailor blush.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

Will Rhiannon get into her room? Will she make it to the meeting in the morning? Will she figure out where it is? Will the agents ever stop calling her A2060474100 or some shortened form of that? Will the questions never end?! Tune in really soon for "A Very Important Date: the Meeting in the Morning" for the answers! But first, be sure to vote on whether Rhiannon should meet Pandora!!! Remember viewers, your vote _counts *car salesman smile*_

~MnI~

Check back in an hour, I'm on that much sugar—I mean, a roll! That much of a roll! Yeah, that's it… *eats birthday cake*


	8. A Very Important Date

Hi again. I know I said I'd update yesterday, but ff.net was down for a while, and I was being forced to work on my room. Anyways, I have some people I'd like to thank for helping me with a muse crisis last night: Darren for reminding me to think of the storyline, Lulu for reminding me to think of the readers, Kaki for reminding me to think of the characters, Cara for reminding me to think of my sanity (or whatever's left of it), and an extra big thank you to Tony who did most of the above, and for keeping me from going loco while I made my decision.

TADA!! (applause) Another new chapter (aren't you proud of me?) and with it comes (dandandaaaan)

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!! (ooooooo)

Yes, and the first part is a bit of Strongbad rave music () which I don't own either (and my d/c remains the same).

But now I leave the rest to you to figure out.

Enjoy!

~Rhiannon~

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep  
Dan dandan dun, dan dandan dun, dan dandan dun,

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, dan dandan dun, dan dandan dun, dan dandan dun  
Doodoo doo doo, doodoo doo doodoo, doodoo doo doodoo, beep, beep, beep

The system is down. The system is down. The system is down.

"DUDE! Why the hell are you sleeping in the hallway?!"

Rhiannon blinked her eyes open and saw two black boots.

"Hello? Earth to whoever you are? You're asleep in a hallway and that bloody watch of yours has been going off for nearly an hour!! Wake up, you stupid girl!" the boots yelled, tapping slightly with impatience. 

"Mmmph. Go away," Rhiannon mumbled, as she swatted at the boots, the strange invented rave music carrying her off. "Five more mints."

"Get UP!" the boots aimed a kick straight into her stomach.

Rhiannon was awake, although she had just had the wind knocked out of her. She rolled herself slowly onto her hands and knees. The boy helped her up roughly.

"Are you drunk?" he asked.

Rhiannon answered, "No… God what is that bloody beeping?"

"It's your watch."

"My watch?" Rhiannon asked, confused. "Why would I have… set… my… watch?" Her face contorted as it dawned on her that she had a meeting at 6 o'clock. She checked her watch. "Oh, shit."

6:52 it taunted her with its digital black flashing.

"Oh shit, oh shit," she repeated to herself as she dusted off her jeans. "Oh rickety-frickin-frackin-hizzin-bizzin-nogood-dirty—where's the conference room?"

The boy was now eyeing her with an odd look of mixed suspicion, fear, and curiosity. "Uh, you go to the elevator and say, 'Conference room'?" he said as if asking her for her sanity levels.

"Greatthanks!" she said, as she tore off down the hall.

"Wrong way," he call

She rushed past him a second time, mumbling, "I knew that."

"What's the rush?" he called after her retreating form.

Rhiannon yelled back over her shoulder, "I'm late! I'm late for an important date!"

The boy chuckled.

~@~

The steel doors of the elevator closed.

"Erm," Rhiannon began, uncomfortable with the notion of talking to the elevator, "Conference room?"

There was a soft ding, and the elevator dropped steadily. Rhiannon chanced a glance around the empty cube. There was nothing inside, and the crack between the doors was invisible. She was rather uncomfortable in the blank room.

All of her life, there had always been color or sound or smells to occupy her, but in the monochrome elevator, there was nothing for her to occupy her nervous mind. It was an utterly new feeling, the blankness of this new place. No-one was laughing or crying, shouting or smiling. They were all emotionless rocks. They all spoke in similar monotones, never raised their voices, never added hints of pleasure or distaste to their words, excepting when the talked of humans. They did not care if she made jokes or poked fun at their monotony. 

She spent sixteen years trying to get Agent Doe to smile. Every time he spoke to her, she asked him to call her by her "real" name, but he never did. Even when other agents had come in place of Doe (who was off kicking rebel arse), they spoke the same way, used the same words, demanded that she quit spilling emotions on them. After she turned twelve, she realized that they did not like her way of telling them about her week, about how she hated so-and-so and how she loved such-and-such. They wanted to hear about anomalies, about her hacking skills, about her martial arts training. They could have cared less about her books, her elves, her friends, her dreams, her core.

_Besides,_ Rhiannon thought bitterly to herself, _they never laughed at anything I said._

The sly part of her mind said, _Except that boy._

The elevator slowed, and an operator-ish voice said, "Executive Level." It stopped, dinged, and—sat there. The doors did not open. She stood for a moment before she felt the draft on the backs of her legs.

"Ahem," a decapitated head said, floating inside a solid black laptop.

Rhiannon whipped around.

"You're extraordinarily late," it said.

~@~

All throughout the head's monologue about the glory of the A-lines and everything they were capable of, Rhiannon had eyed the floating menace with growing contempt. He had been treating her like an object.

Rhiannon had thought back to her first boyfriend. She had met him at the freshman mixer, a small dance held between the freshman classes of St. Angela's and St. Paul's high schools. The following week, she walked straight up to him in front of his whole football team, kicked him in the nuts, and backhanded him, all the while screaming at him for being a sexist boob. Her reason had been simple: he had treated her like an object.

This stupid head was, in her opinion, doing the same. He had said stuff about how marvelous her powers were, and he had kept complimenting the Programmers and the Architect, and it reminded her very much of _The Horse and His Boy_, how all the people had to talk very nicely about the Tisroc. She had begun to despise the head, who had continued to explain things to her condescendingly, as if she were a stuffed bear.

"Oh, you probably wouldn't understand, but you see, there are all of these little places, called coordinates, and, oh, nevermind. But you can change the location of things, there's a disk on the table for you to upload to yourself after all the meetings are over. You'll just have to go back up to your office to do it," it had said.

She had wanted to break the laptop to shards, or to make it "change locations." Both would have worked fine for her.

The head had explained that the green glass "playing field" was a portable sparring area for agents and human agents—something else he only half explained. She understood most of it, however, people who worked for the machines; people who either tricked rebels or spied on them (or both), she could not decide which sounded more interesting. The head had not bothered to continue his explanation, for he had launched off into another spiel about how wonderful the A-lines were and how they would destroy the resistance entirely.

It was a most unhelpful talking head.

Now Rhiannon was sitting in the same position, her glare slightly more menacing than before, as the head jabbered on about anomalies and missions. She could not care less about any of it. She was busy contemplating, mulling over what had happened. She hated the machines for killing the first A-line. She hated the agents for being so cold. She hated the A-lines for being indifferent. She hated 917 for standing up to her. She hated herself for getting angry. She hated Agent Doe for leaving her stranded in the hallway. She hated the head for being an asshole. She hated the Architect for creating the Matrix. She hated to machines for fighting the people. She hated the people for making the machines. Her own thoughts and words came rolling back to her, echoing through her mind, drawing her inexorably closer to the one decision she did not want to make.

Rebels or Machines?

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

… 

*coughs* erm… I hope you liked it, and now, an update of the current polls (which are still open)

Rhiannon should meet Pandora: 1

Rhiannon should NOT meet Pandora: 0

Please VOTE, because I don't want to decide by myself. Domo arigato!

And… you know that this is the part where I say that reviews make me write faster, and you just roll your eyes at me… but please… feed the starving artist's creativity, if not her tummy *pitiful puppy eyes*


	9. A Swift Kick in the Shin

A/N: Well, sorry it took so long, but I wanted this chapter to be worthy. And I changed a bit at the end of the last chapter, but since I'm nice, I'm also putting the corrected paragraph here, because I figure there are other people as lazy as I am. Hmm.. other notes… I was being strange and so I used both "elevator" and "lift" interchangeably, so don't freak out and be like "omg, wth?!" and another think not to be like "omg, wth?!" is "soda" which is also called "coke" and "pop" and other stuff, too. I tried out a new style of writing in this chapter. It's very tedious to write, so I doubt that I'll use it very often, but it does come in handy for CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT lol.. I like char development, I don't know why. annnnd that's it for notes at the beginning! Yaaaay! Remember, kids, only you can prevent authors from going crazy. Read it and Review it.

D/C: same as always, I only own Rhiannon, 917, and the other A-lines (and now… watchboy)

~~Last chapter, in Rhiannon:~~

It was a most unhelpful talking head.

Now Rhiannon was sitting in the same position, her glare slightly more menacing than before, as the head jabbered on about anomalies and missions. She could not care less about any of it. She was busy contemplating, mulling over what had happened. She hated the machines for killing the first A-line. She hated the agents for being so cold. She hated the A-lines for being indifferent. She hated 917 for standing up to her. She hated herself for getting angry. She hated Agent Doe for leaving her stranded in the hallway. She hated the head for being an asshole. She hated the Architect for creating the Matrix. She hated to machines for fighting the people. She hated the people for making the machines. Her own thoughts and words came rolling back to her, echoing through her mind, drawing her inexorably closer to the one decision she did not want to make.

Rebels or Machines?

~~~

Rhiannon, Chapter Nine:

Rhiannon snatched the disk off the desk and stalked out of the room, elbowing one agent to get to the door first. She stalked down the hallway, looking for a way to get back to whatever floor had the strange black hallway. She was still stewing in her own self-loathing and was not paying the slightest attention to anything but the floor immediately in front of her feet. She walked headlong into…

Agent Doe missed the conference to check on a disturbance on the other side of town. When he had returned, he had stood speaking to a secretary about a new way to file reports. He turned around just in time to catch…

Rhiannon felt strong arms bracing her shoulders as she crashed into someone. The someone wore a suit. It was slightly dusty, as if the person had been near a falling wall. She stepped back shakily and looked up into the face of…

Agent Doe looked down at one of his charges. She seemed to be in a temper and had a cross look on her face. Her face changed to some expression he could not read, something like surprise or anger. His charge was demanding that he explain how to get around in this place to her. He had explained everything to her last night.

Rhiannon wanted to scream, but she bit her tongue and asked how to get back to her office. This agent was driving her mad. This whole world was driving her mad. It made no sense to her! 

"Go to the end of the hall, step in the elevator, and ask for area 12," Agent Doe said. He couldn't understand the look the girl gave him as she stormed off down the row of desks and doors and conference rooms and interrogation rooms. He saw her aim a kick at a rebel being escorted into one.

Rhiannon tried counting to ten as she raged down the hall, fuming. Two agents and a rebel stepped out of an elevator on the left in front of her. She reached ten just before they passed, but she felt no calmer. She swung her leg at the young man's shin and continued to turn everyone's heads as she made her way to the elevators. Her anger somehow caused the doors to snap shut behind her.

"Twelve," she growled. The lift dinged and rose into the air.

Its empty walls enraged her even more, so that when she finally reached her floor and heard the ding of the lift, she was in a murderous rage and was likely to kill the next thing she saw. She made her way down the hallway, and realized, for the first time, that there was no way that she would ever find her office. No doors, no numbers, the whole area was the same. This fueled her already out of control bout of fury, and now she was likely to kill the next thing she saw—slowly and _painfully_.

She walked forward, gradually increasing her speed until she was running down the hall. Soon she was sprinting, and she quickly forgot her inhibitions and flickered from sight, rocketing down the hall too fast to be seen. She screeched to a halt, punched the left wall, kicked the right, spun around, and plopped onto the floor in a huff.

She looked back down the hall, but the elevator was the end of the hall, which was dimly lit anyways, and shrouded in darkness. It had looked the same the night before, but now, she couldn't tell if it was the light or the distance. Rhiannon shouted her fury to the empty hallway. The silence ate up her call like a ravenous beast, and in the following stillness, she heard a lock clicking. The door opened, and—wonder of wonders—through the door stepped…

Dahr Zados was in his office, throwing darts at a wanted picture on the wall, a poster that was so full of holes, you had to look twice to see the battered visage of Thomas A. Anderson. Dahr had blindfolded himself, and was aiming for what he thought was the middle of Anderson's forehead, but after he removed the pink bandana, he saw that he had just spilled all of poor Mr. Anderson's left eye jelly. His shots always went a bit to the right, and he had forgotten this. It didn't matter, it was still a lethal shot. He turned to the mini-fridge beneath his desk and pulled out a soda. He was just polishing it off when he heard pounding on the walls and a scream.

_Oh, bloody,_ he thought. _It must be the girl from the hallway. Who else would beat on the walls?_

He slipped his darts into a drawer and tossed his soda can into the wastebasket. Straightening his tie with one hand, Dahr slid the chain off the door with his other. He pulled it open and stepped in the hallway to find…

Rhiannon was crying. Everything had happened so fast. She had never really believed that she would seriously have to fight; she never really believed she had any special powers at all. She believed that all the weird stuff that happened to her was the mainframe looking out for her. She could not believe what the head had just told her, that she could move anything within the Matrix, from ink to people. She was now to begin her final training, and as soon as she was ready, she would be sent out into the Matrix to search for and destroy any and all Resistance. Although she had heard the click of the lock, it the door had taken to long to open and her tears had broken the floodgates, streaming silently down her face, by the time the opener saw her. She didn't even notice that the person who had opened the door was…

Dahr looked down at the girl who had slept in the hallway. This time she wasn't asleep and her watch wasn't going off, but she noticed him no more than she had when she had been asleep. He cleared his throat, and suddenly he was looking into the tearstained face of…

Rhiannon was embarrassed to be found a second time by this man, this agent, in a less than dignified position. He helped her up, saying

"My name's Dahr. Dahr Zados," he said. "You must be new. Did they just tell you that you can't go back?" He was startled to see the incredulous look that…

Rhiannon gave him a bewildered glance. "N-no," she said. "I can't get into my office. Actually, I have no idea where it is." She couldn't believe that Dahr actually said

"You're crying because you can't get into you're office?" Dahr asked, stunned at woman's frailty.

"Nani?" Rhiannon cried. "Hell no! And I don't have to tell you why I'm crying anyways."

Dahr said, in his haughtiest and bossiest tone, "Oh really? I'm a superior officer, and I can demand that you tell me anything!"

"That's what you think," Rhiannon muttered darkly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing… nothing…"

"It better not have been. Now, am I to assume that your office was behind where you slept last night?"

"Yeah," Rhiannon answered, looking down the hall.

Dahr seemed on the verge of correcting Rhiannon's response, but thought the better of it and said, "Well, then follow me. You're in…"

He trailed off as he led Rhiannon down the hall, checking something that Rhiannon could not see.

"Here we are," Dahr announced, stopping under a lamp.

"How do you know?" asked Rhiannon.

Dahr said, as if he were teaching a whole auditorium, "Well, there's a door under every light, and you can tell which is yours by the number on the light fixture itself. You are 1284."

"Twelve for the floor, right?"

"Yep. And to get in you say 'open.'"

Rhiannon looked at him. "That's it?" she asked bitterly. "Not, 'Open Sesame?'"

Again, the boy chuckled. "No, I suppose not," he said.

~@~

Rhiannon stepped out of her room backwards, closing the door. With the new power she had realized, she moved her hand in the air in front of her and heard the brass chain on the other side of the door lock itself.

"You aren't allowed to do that," a voice said.

Rhiannon spun on her heel to find Dahr huddled and leaned against the wall in a casual set of black clothes. His brown hair covered what little of his face was visible, and he used the dim light to his advantage, hanging his head so that the shadows kissed his face just so. She wouldn't have known who he was but for his voice, which she had memorized.

"I'll bet you aren't allowed to do that, Dahr," Rhiannon retorted icily. She was supposed to go to the sparring rooms as soon as she had uploaded the information on the disk to herself, and didn't want to keep her record of tardiness.

Dahr looked up. He said, "You knew me!"

As Rhiannon walked towards the elevator, she said, "Your voice. Besides, who else could you have been? Would you mind not following me?"

"Fine," Dahr said, but he continued to walk down the hall behind her.

"As long as you're following me, would you mind telling me how it was that I sprinted down the hall and didn't go but two or three rooms past my own?"

Dahr smiled. "Simple," he said. "Have you ever noticed how time slows when you're mad?"

"Why do you think I was mad?"

"Well, assuming that you are the same girl who kicked a rebel in the shin this morning just because he was there… The folks downstairs said that you were in quite a huff," Dahr explained. "I can't think of many other women types here who would be 1. angry and 2. angry enough to kick a random person."

"I see," Rhiannon said as they reached the elevators. "Well, Sherlock, your deduction was accurate."

They stepped inside the lift and Dahr said, "Sparring level, please."

After the lift began to descend, Rhiannon demanded, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I thought that you knew," Dahr said apologetically. "You are supposed to spar several people today. I was sent to make sure that you got to where you needed to be, and also to…"

"To what?" asked Rhiannon.

"Nevermind."

"Fine. But I did know that I was supposed to go to sparring, and I was going quite fine without your help."

Dahr said quickly, "Well that's all good and well, but we are to follow our orders, and I was ordered to fetch you."

A few minutes later, Dahr said, "If you win all your spars, I'll take you out for coffee this evening. If you lose, you get to take me out for coffee."

"Sounds good," said Rhiannon, feeling confident that she would get a free espresso.

The lift dinged and stopped. The doors opened to reveal a large, open gym with high ceilings and blue mats everywhere. There were all sorts of training equipment everywhere, and there were doors at one end that said such things as, "Target Practice." In front of her stood about fifteen or so agents. She smiled and was mid-nod when she heard and felt a gun being leveled behind her. Time slowed. She spun on her heel for the second time in a day, saw Dahr preparing to fire his gun, and she let herself spin out of the way as she disappeared. She reappeared, spinning, behind the agents. She put her left foot down and stopped herself, facing her adversaries.

Dahr had already pulled the trigger several times before he saw Rhiannon appear on the other side of the room, and three agents went down. The other 12 attacked her head on. He watched as they exchanged blows, most missing Rhiannon completely as she popped in and out of spaces attacking where she could and reappearing to attack somewhere else. He watched her closely until he realized her weakness, the thing that could stop her space-hopping. True, she did have decent reflexes and a challenging speed to match, but Dahr felt confident that he could catch her.

Rhiannon knocked out several agents by popping up behind them, attacking them, and popping out. She didn't really knock them out, but the had been instructed to stop fighting when the average human would lose. After all, she would not be fighting agents. She had already taken out nine agents this way, but not without several bruises of her own. She had only figured out the k.o. strategy after one agent tried it on her. Three left. She dodged and delivered her own blows. Caught off guard, she flipped backwards several paces. Rhiannon was just about to attack again, but someone caught her arm in an unyielding grip of steel.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

ooooh a cliffhanger! And now a word about Dahr.

Dahr is a name that means "time" and I suppose you can only guess why. (hint: my own loving nickname for him is watchboy) and his last name, Zados, was suggested by Tony. 

You know Nightcrawler from X-2? Well, Rhiannon's "space-hopping" is very similar, although I swear I didn't think of Nightcrawler when I came up with it. She doesn't leave smoke or anything behind her, either. She just reinserts her code somewhere else. She can also do this with other objects. Like she could make a marker write in thin air. (When I came up with that, I was babbling to myself about coordinates because my step was grilling me about my use of coordinates in another story.) 

Sorry about how this fight scene was not as detailed as the last one, but this time, I have bigger fight scenes to plan. I mean, I totally did not just say that…

As to Pandora… she's a bratty little girl in the Twin's charge. I think I'm just going to include her because it saves me time. 

SO, I guess that's about it, and until next time, this is megami saying, "please, oh please review my story, or I shall be forced to sing a slightly altered queen song about reviews…" (to the tune of bicycle race, probably) jaa


	10. Coffee with a Twist of Rebel

A/N: Eheh.. sorry about taking so long, this chapter was difficult towards the end. It doesn't capture Ree nearly as much as I'd like it to, but c'est la vie. I might not update till Monday or so because I have a tad bit of summer reading left to complete before school starts, plus I have to finish some bloody French packet my teacher thought it would be fun to assign over the summer. I don't mean to spill on you guys. Here's your chapter. More of Dahr, of course, but not nearly so much as I would like. It's so hard to establish a relationship over one chapter, but trust me it's there. And, Kit, I described Ree's room just for you ^_^ It's not a very good description, mind you, but I think it's enough to get the point across. Silly Ree, she ought to put up posters or something, like Widge. Ah well, c'est la vie.

D/C: not. mine. My stuff is limited to Ree and Dahr, 917 and the A-lines. I'm not getting anything out of this other than self-esteem and ego. And writing tips. That's it.

Rhiannon:

Chapter Ten

Rhiannon space-hopped, but liquid fire sped through her veins and froze her to the spot. Something was digging into her arm; she could not get away. Her fight-or-flight response kicked in, and the adrenaline in her bloodstream multiplied several times. Her body was doing the thinking as she tried to claw the hand off her arm.

"I win," a voice said in her ear.

Rhiannon tried once again to disappear, but the fire burned her and froze her to the spot. 

"Relax, it was just a test," said the voice.

Rhiannon calmed down and realized that she had overreacted for the second time in a day. This was a sparring exercise, designed to test her newfound ability. "I guess I owe you coffee," she said breathlessly.

The table is wood. It has been painted and coated with plastic. While Dahr went to the little boy's room, Rhiannon turned her attention to this table, attempting to read the strange script. The coffee shop itself was cosy, and people chattered away on cushioned couches, at wood and iron tables, in posh lounge areas, and around marble coffee tables. The coffee was divine, and Rhiannon was contemplating a second cup, although she had yet to finish her first.

As Dahr returned to the table, a woman came by with a sponge cake. "Here," she said. "It's your sponge cake."

"Oh, no," said Rhiannon with a smile, "this is not our order."

The waitress beamed, "Madam, it's a free sponge cake. It comes with two orders of coffee on every Tuesday."

Rhiannon blushed. "Oh," she mumbled. "Thank you."

The waitress smiled at Dahr. "Hello, Zados," she said slyly.

"Um," Dahr said as he swallowed his coffee. He motioned to Rhiannon. "This is …"

"Rhiannon," she filled in for him.

"Right. Luce, this is Rhiannon. Rhiannon, this is Luce."

"What'd ya do, Z? Pick her up off the street?" the waitress asked with a laugh as she walked away.

"Who was that?" asked Rhiannon.

"A girl."

"Well, obviously, Dahr. Who is she?"

"An old friend."

"You're allowed to have those?"

"Human agents get nights off. I get Tuesdays off. Free sponge cake, can you say no?"

"I see. And how many of these 'human agents' are there?"

"Don't know, don't care. It's not like we're allowed to see each other, anyways."

"Why?"

"Oh, 'cause there was a lot of double agent business in some previous Matrices. The machines decided not to let the human agents get any ideas or something. So I'm assuming that you're not human?"

"Actually," Rhiannon said, a wistful mist creeping over her eyes, "I don't know."

"So… you don't know whether you're a human or a program? That's strange. With all that bouncing around you were doing, I figured you were a machine, but after I saw your code, I couldn't tell."

Rhiannon nearly choked on her coffee. "You can see my code?!" she hissed, hope coursing through her veins.

Dahr beamed with pride. "That's my talent. I read the code. But anyways… about your talent. How do you do that—that popping thing?"

"Eh… I'm not sure," Rhiannon admitted. "It's like breathing. I just do it."

"Huh…" Dahr said, stumped. "Now that's a puzzle. I know what the code does, but not what you do…"

"So then what is it that I do, Mr. Smarty-pants?"

"Oh that's easy," Dahr declared jovially. "You know how everything is a code, so this'll be simple to explain. You insert your code into a different location. It's the commands you're using that elude me."

Rhiannon looked over her mug. "What eludes me," she said, "is how you stopped me."

Dahr smiled as if he had just been asked how he discovered the Pyramids. He proclaimed, "I held onto you."

"Yes, I know. But what did you do that stopped me?"

"I held onto your code."

"Messed," muttered Rhiannon. "That is messed." She was secretly wondering how that worked. He would have to serious control of himself to be able to pull off a stunt like that, but it seemed impossible to her. She just tucked it away into the back of her mind.

~@~

Excerpt: Diary of Rhiannon Thomason, 23rd October

Again, I find that I must explain myself. Nick, I didn't write for two days because I flat didn't have my diary. How could I have written in it? Anyways, this time, I have some serious explaining to do. I hope this doesn't make you angry with me…

So you see, Nick, there was little else that I could do, considering that these agents are using me as an experiment. They have over two hundred other girls just like me. We fight anarchists. Anyways, I daresay I shan't see you again, but if I am ever offered the chance, I will visit you in an instant. My quarters here are very… futuristic, too say the least. If you stand in the doorway, my small bed is on your right, my desk in the back on the right, my wardrobe on your left, and my bookcase in the back on the left. My room is bloody colourless. There is absolutely no colour anywhere. I think I shall shrivel. The only things that aren't, are this blackish grey are white. It's fairly morbid, and I feel like I'm living in a coffin, but then I would think of ­_that_ analogy.

~@~

TIME PASSED since Rhiannon became the first A-line to enter active duty. She and her beau, Dahr Zados, often sparred and went out for coffee on Tuesdays. However, it was six months before she was deemed worthy of her own shift and she had only been working it for three weeks when…

The man yelled in the alleyway. She probably would not have found him if he had not. She appeared in front of him, and then she could almost hear his operator screaming in the real world. She smirked as she backed the battered and bruised rebel into the wall at the end of the alley. Using her speed, she thrust out her arm and caught his neck in a viselike grip, lifting him a few inches from the ground. With her free arm, she pulled out a sleek black cell phone, and hit three on the speed dial.

Her voice had changed considerably since she had started training. Her once sarcastic tones and colourful language had been replaced by a cold and malicious sounding near monotone, which was evident in her brief announcement into the phone.

"Got him," she declared, emotionless. She snapped the phone shut and slipped it into the pocket of her pants.

The man's eyes flashed, but he kept silent. She slapped her pair of handcuffs onto his wrists roughly, and, using the trick Dahr taught her, she held onto his code as she space-hopped into the agency lobby. She then frog-marched him past the astounded secretaries and staring agents. Her first actual assignment and she had brought him in in an hour. She did not focus on the faces of the programs around her, and she forced her wide-eyed prisoner to continue along the hallway.

"Quit staring," she mumbled, audible only to him. Her frustration was obvious.

Surprised at the simple humanity of the emotion, he followed her docilely, like a lamb to the slaughter. She led him to the elevator and stepped inside.

The doors closed.

She said, "Prison bay." Her inner self wanted to laugh at the Star Wars-ness of the command. She chanced a glance at her captive. He was looking wildly about the empty elevator. She wanted to tell him that she hated the blank steel, too. She was contemplating all the things that she wanted to say to this man beside her. He was not only cute, but she felt that he had some respectable qualities, like courage and honour. Regretting capturing him, she decided to help him escape. _No,_ she thought, pushing her rebellious thoughts to the back of her mind.

The doors opened, saving her from herself for the time being. She led her hostage down the cellblock. She had heard several gasps when the door opened, but as she walked down the row, she felt the relief pouring off the jailbirds in waves. She didn't blame them of course; they were more than terrified of the agents, and though she was one, they knew her only as a trainee. It didn't bother her, and she actually felt sorry for them, locked away to await death. Pushing her emotions to the back of her mind, she scolded herself.

~@~

"Congratulations, 4100," the head said. Rhiannon automatically mumbled the correction, but the head only continued, "Your first assignment was completed beautifully. Your new instructions are to interrogate this rebel. Success is dependant on whether or not you get him to tell you anything relevant to the rebellion. Doubtless, he will not know anything of use, but this is just practice. If his crew does not kill him, Agent Zados will meet you outside your office in one hour." The head disappeared into the blackness of the computer screen.

Rhiannon made her way up to her office after she filed her report. The secretary program that she handed it to had seemed nervous or something. After she reached her room, she flipped open a psychology book, and scanned a few pages. She was far too restless to concentrate, and she slammed it shut. She sat on her bed, her head in her hands, and awaited the stroke of the clock that would indicate one hour.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

I'm writing up the next part after I post this, so you might not have to wait till Monday. (If you're east of ny, it might be Tuesday, I dunno) I'm typing as fast as I can, but reviews always make me type faster. I swear. They're as psycho-izing as sugar. And for fyi…

Ree and Dahr really like each other … in that way.  
Ree is really struggling with this new Agent identity.  
Ree is also very, very agitated, anxious, and restless at the end of this chap.  
The head is still as annoying and pig-headed as ever.  
You must review in four minutes or this chapter will self-destruct.  
Jaa!  
Sincerely from your author, megami


	11. Interview with the Rebel

A/N: Alright, several hours isn't so bad is it? *yawns* it's almost five in the morning. I really have got to quit getting inspiration at oh-hundred hours. Gawd, I'm going to bed. Don't expect to see me for several hours. I'm dog tired.

D/C: too tired… read last chapter…

Rhiannon:

Chapter Eleven

The ceiling had no interesting features. There were no water stains, no spots, no dots, no lines, no bumps, no cracks, no scratches, no marks, and no colour. The ceiling was, in fact, a most boring thing to stare at, and, although her eyes seemed fixed on it, Rhiannon agreed. Her stainless steel ceiling was horridly dull, and the thing that caught her eye was a fly. It buzzed about the surface, occasionally landing and crawling around for a few seconds before zipping off on its erratic and sickeningly spastic path. The fly had just landed when the clock rang out into the silent void of Rhiannon's room. The startled arthropod jumped and buzzed around for several seconds before landing again, but Rhiannon did not see this. She had stood up, and was slipping a last look in the mirror, wondering how much her reflection will have changed when she returned later. The Matrix was a difficult thing to contemplate. As long as she didn't begin to go into any amount of deep thought, she would be safe from it's ravaging effects on her already troubled brain.

Rhiannon tried to smile into the mirror, but she could only muster some odd grimace that ought to have shattered the mirror. This did not improve her somber and contemplative mood at all, and she frowned at her reflection. Rhiannon flipped her hair and walked to the door. She stepped out of the room backwards and pulled the chain across through the door, as she was in the habit of doing.

"Are you ready?" asked a grave Dahr, his dancing eyes hidden by his unruly brown hair.

Rhiannon did not answer, but only continued down the hall, flanked by Dahr. They stepped into the lift and rode it down to the executive level in silence. There, a second agent, a program, joined them before proceeding to the interrogation room.

The rebel had already been in the room for several minutes. He looked up slightly, not noticeably enough, but enough to see the three agents step into the room. He was still confused about this girl, the one who had caught him. She was an enigma. She had acted as the other agents had, ruthless and cold, but when she had stood with him in the lift, he had noticed the strange way she carried herself, as if she was being torn apart from the inside. He noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes, something he had not noticed before. She looked almost scared as she sat down in the chair opposite him.

"Mr. John Wallace Reynolds, you are accused of," the woman began shakily. He quit listening to her; she became a slight droning sound as he thought very hard about what to do.

He did hear her say, "Your freedom for your cooperation." Her eyes were not trained on him; they had flicked to the brown-haired agent behind him as she said this. 

_She's seems new at this,_ the rebel thought to himself.

"I'm Rory," he said, surprising himself with his own voice.

Unsure of herself, she faltered. "Your freedom for your cooperation," she repeated.

Rory smirked. "Cooperation with what?" asked the curious part of him.

The girl seemed to be thinking.

"Cooperation with what?" he asked again.

The girl answered with definition, "Tell me everything you know about the Rebellion."

Rory felt his dangerous side take over. "Just you?" he asked.

"Us," the girl said, staring through his head. "Us."

"I know nothing."

"Suit yourself," she said, but she held her right hand up. A gun appeared.

"It's up to you. Tell us what you know, or this bullet will have a real heart-to-heart with your brain."

"I'm sure it will," Rory said.

~@~

Rhiannon was looking straight into the face of the determined rebel. He was sporting a black eye now, a good many cuts, and a split lip, but he had lost no cheek. She tried to remember psychology, but her brains were so worn out she could hardly answer two plus two. She asked him again for nearing the thousandth time to tell her anything, but he still refused. Up until this point, she had let Zados and the other agent handle the physical bit, but she was under the vague impression that if she slapped him or something, he might answer her.

Rhiannon motioned to her companions to leave the room. The program touched two fingers to his earpiece before leading the way out of the white room.

"Tell me something. Anything."

The rebel only growled.

"Give me a name, a time, the location of a bolt, anything."

He didn't answer.

"Fine," she said turning around. She decided to try a trick she saw on an anime once. They called it water something or something water. She could not remember it, but she remembered what happened. She thought for a moment about blurs, ghosts, holograms, doubles, and Nintendo games. She felt something happening around her, and she saw to her surprise, that it had worked. She had created at least thirteen watery copies of herself, and she looked as ghostly and transparent as they did.

The rebel looked frightened for a split-second, but he instantly changed his expression to something between stunned and wary.

Rhiannon multiplied her voice as well, and she said quietly, "Tell us," as her images spun into a blur and disappeared into her. She stood behind him. He stood up and turned around. Rhiannon vanished the table as he backed up. She wanted to smirk, but she kept her most dastardly and frightening expression plastered to her face. The rebel continued to back away, but he was still not answering.

Drawing still more on her Nintendo games, she tried a similar trick, blurring herself as she slid forward. She stopped just short of his face, her own a daunting grimace. "Tell us," she said as she faded out from him and into the space ten feet away. "Or there shall be consequences."

The rebel looked ridiculous, standing slack jawed and staring at a teenage girl who looked about as harmless as a fire hydrant. Rhiannon sauntered forward. "Maybe you still need some persuading," she purred, trying to act like a real interrogator, although she had only a vague idea of them.

Just as she was nearly even with him, she slammed him back into the door with her palm. Turning, she walked back to the opposite wall.

"This world," she said, "is the strangest brainchild ever created. It is unknown to those who are entangled in the system—which includes you—as to who dreamed it up. I am under the distinct impression that it was the Architect. I know little of him, but there is much to speculate. He could be human, he could be a machine. He could be another program. No-one knows…"

"And no-one cares," Rhiannon said sardonically as she turned on her heel.

The rebel was pulling himself to his feet.

"Mr. Reynolds, this world is a hoax, a sham. However, there are several million people who are living in peace without this knowledge, and the world you call real is nothing but a desert wasteland. The sky blots out the sun, the oceans have dissipated… Mr. Reynolds, what would anyone want with that desolate, inhospitable world? In this world, there are things besides humans and machines left, you know. There are plants and animals, there are great spacious skies, purple mountains, shimmering seas, golden harvests. In this world, several million people can live. In the real world, only a few thousand can survive. Why would anyone trade this world for that one?"

The rebel seemed to be preparing an answer.

"It's rhetorical," Rhiannon snapped, not wanting to hear any mind-boggling bits of information. "Reynolds, I am offering you the chance to go back to your razed waste. All I want is one piece of information."

The rebel seemed to find his tongue. "Information? I'll give you information," he spat. "Wild zartoks could not drag that information from me. Do your worst." 

"Temper, temper," Rhiannon said. "Alas, it _is_ your choice. On the one hand, a small piece of information. On the other, your beloved world… and your life. Take your pick."

After receiving no response, Rhiannon sat down in a chair that appeared to seat her. She waited for an answer, but her only answer was a speech about truth from the rebel.

Rory ignored his eye and his bleeding lip. This psycho program was not going to make him talk. She did not even have any good arguments as to why he should nark on his ship. She did, however, challenge his world, and she was going to get an answer. Whether she wanted it, or not. He began, "I would, I have traded this world for the real world. There might be no other life forms, but there is the truth. I would die for the truth. I will die for the truth. I will not betray it. The truth is something that people place their trust in. When a person has nothing left to trust, he turns to what he knows, the cold hard ground beneath his feet. What if he found out that that ground was a lie? What if you found out that what you called reality was only a sham? An elaborate hoax? What would you do? How would you feel if you discovered that everything you've ever known is a lie? Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. You can't feel. You are nothing but a scrawling code," he spat. "You could never understand what it's like to feel that there is a problem with the world. To search for the problem. To ask the question. To find the answer. You'll never know. You're not even real."

He missed the strange, sad look on the girl's face.

Rhiannon bit back tears at the rebels stinging words. Ever since she had begun the training at the agency, she had been struggling with the great flaw in her world, the splinter in her mind. This rebel was going to force her to ask the question, and she did not know what the search for the answer would drive her to. She wanted to kill something, anything, but she could only smile at the man. It was the saddest and most heartbreaking smile one could ever imagine; it said, as plain as day, that he did not understand as much as he presumed to understand.

Her voice wavered as she spoke. "It is your choice. I will not force you," she whispered. She faded from the room, tears sparkling in her crystal blue eyes.

Outside the room, Rhiannon informed the two agents that they could take the prisoner downstairs. Rhiannon filed her report quickly and quietly before riding silently up the lift to her tomblike quarters.

Once inside, Rhiannon fell onto her bed, sobbing. The rebel made her ask the question. She hated him. She hated the question. She hated the world. 

"Am I doing the right thing?"

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

please review… I'll say witty stuff when I'm awake enough to think. Good night, er, morning


	12. The Rebel, the Clock, and the Virus

A/N: So… sorry this took so long, but school was killer last week. Anyways, if I get the chance, and I'm not quite positive that I will, I will do my absolute best to post the next chapter this week. Still working on character development, but I don't seem to get it right. Help and feedback would be greatly appreciated. And if you want to understand just who Pan is, I suggest you read Pandora the Brave, but you don't have to.

D/C: I still don't own the Matrix or anything related to it, but I do own Rhiannon and Rory, Dahr, Pan, 917, and the rest of the Alines. 

Rhiannon: Chapter 12

The Rebel, the Clock, and the Virus

The day was drawing to a close, and Dahr Zados wanted very much to take his girlfriend out to celebrate her first capture, but it wasn't a Tuesday. She seemed to have been anxious at first, but she had gotten the hang of interrogating pretty quickly, and although she had been unable to get the rebel to talk, it _had_ been her first time. Besides, there were many agents who did not interrogate their own prisoners. Some people had the talent, others did not. 

Rebels were scum. Who cares if they died?

Rebels were honourable, courageous, and noble. How could they deserve to die?

A thousand and more thoughts whirled through her mind. Everything from her sixth birthday to the nature of the Matrix rocketed through her soul, barely giving her time to think about each one before speeding to the next thought. Her friends sat around her, singing, their faces lit by candles. The roller-skates on her feet were heavy, but it didn't matter; it was her first real birthday party. She made her wish, "I wish for understanding."

"And a pony," she added.

The world was a cruel, horrible place, and she, unfortunately, lived in it. An empty thought struck her. "I should call Nick."

It was a strange thought, not entirely random, but strange nonetheless. Nick had been like an older brother; he of all people would know what to do. Of all her friends, she trusted him the most. Nick asked her to keep a diary, and she had. Now she was glad she had. She sat up, mopped her face with her sopping pillow, and forced herself to get her diary and her cell phone. She crawled back into bed with the items and dialed Nick's cell phone number. He would be glad to hear her voice. She had not spoken to anyone from her old life in over six months. They would be so glad to hear from her.

_They are worried sick_, Rhiannon's cynical voice thought. She closed her cell phone. She could not call Nick.

This sent her back into tears.

She would probably never see her mother again, whom, though she was a little crazy, Rhiannon loved with all her heart. Her mother was probably worried sick, if she was even alive at all. And her friends… _Kate, Scotch, everyone…_ she thought. _I'm__ sorry. I'm so sorry…_ She realized how evil the Matrix was all at once. It wasn't something she slowly realized at all. It had been right in front of her the whole time, throughout her search for truth, and like a snake, it had bitten her. Suddenly, Rhiannon knew with all her heart that the Matrix was the worst thing that had happened in the history of man.

In that pivotal instant in her existence, Rhiannon made several decisions. Her first decision was to help the rebel, Reynolds, escape. Her second was to run away, far away; as far away from the Agency as possible. Her first decision was good; her second was not.

Rhiannon checked her clock. It was still early evening, no later than eight o'clock. She sat down at her desk and worked out her plan. When she was finished, she began clearing away all traces of her existence. All of her papers she burned. She made her bed up like it had never been slept in. She emptied her slight wardrobe, vanishing everything but one outfit. Before she erased her hard drive and returned the background to its manufacturer's image, she scribbled a phone number on her hand. Rhiannon called a small knapsack into her hands, and she stuffed her diary and cell phone into it. For the second time since she disappeared, she felt the need for something she had left behind her: her worn and ragged teddy bear.

It was no bigger than her open hand, and its fur was incredibly dirty. It was missing its left ear, and tufts of cotton stuffing peeked through. It was soft and lumpy, and squeezing it always made her feel better.

Rhiannon willed it to herself, and was half-surprised that it came. She tucked it into the small bag as well. She set the bag in the seat of the one chair in her room, the same chair over which she had draped her clothes. The clock still only read nine o'clock.

Rhiannon sat on the edge of her bed, and waited.

As soon as the time came, she changed her clothes and tied back her raven hair into a loose bun. She slid her small knapsack onto her shoulders and secured it tightly. She slipped on her gun belt and fastened her gun into its holster on her right hip. As an afterthought, she slipped her hand under the bed and felt her fingers close on a black, hard katana. Rhiannon tucked it into her belt, feeling its weight rest comfortably on her hip. She checked herself in the mirror.

Slacks, black drape-necked tank. Hair tucked neatly into place, not a single loose strand. Black boots. Red stain on her lips. No fear.

~@~

The halls were deserted. She forced the steel elevator doors open and stepped onto a service ladder. With her mind, she struggled to close the heavy metal doors, and upon her success, she called repelling gloves to her hands. She slid down the ladder; yellow lights floated past her. She reached the executive level and performed the same mind trick on the door. She crept to the second elevator, and repeated the process. When she stepped onto the prison bay, she motioned at the rebels.

They eyed her warily. She had never been good at charades, but she made one door disappear and they understood what was going on. Concentrating, Rhiannon attempted to vanish every door, and nearly succeeded. She had been unable to open a few doors at the end of the row, but fortunately, no-one was being held there. She led the escapees up the elevator. They snuck down the executive hallway and out the front door. Once outside, they scattered, most heading for pay phones. 

Reynolds remained.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

Rhiannon simply shook her head and, picking a direction, walked away.

Reynolds ran up and leapt in front of her. Jogging backwards, he said, "I'm Rory. Who are you?"

Rhiannon did not answer but tried to get around him. Rory stopped her.

"Look, you saved our lives. At least tell me who you are."

Again, Rhiannon stepped around him.

"Where are you going? Can I help you?"

She was already several feet away, but she stopped and seemed to consider his offer. She turned on her heel. "You want to help me?" she asked, her voice cool and clear as the night air.

Rory nodded.

"Then take me to the One. I have business with him."

"I can't."

"Then you can't help me." And before Rory could object or change his mind, Rhiannon space-hopped away.

Rory looked at his feet. After several seconds, he walked away. As soon as he turned the corner, Rhiannon leapt down from the roof of the building, she continued on her way.

She checked the phone number she had scrawled on her hand and hit 'Send.'

Ring.  
Ring.  
Ring.

A snobbish-sounding, heavily accented voice answered the phone. By the time Rhiannon had finished making her appointment, she was sickened by the hacking the receptionist had made. As she walked down the street, her phone rang. She answered it.

"You've just won a million—"

"We don't want any," she snapped, and hung up the phone. She stuffed it back into her bag. As she walked pass more and more people, she realized how many odd stares she was getting. She scowled at the people; she was in a less than pleasant mood. For the first time in her life, her existence was not guaranteed, and she was lacking in the purpose department. 

The nightlife in this part of town was fairly hopping, even at nearing one people were still arriving in custom sports cars. Rhiannon was not in the mood to deal with people, so she slipped into an alley.

"Hey, darlin'. Can I getcha somethin'?"

Not what she wanted to find.

"Go to hell."

"Oh, she's a feisty one," a second person said. Rhiannon felt the predators surrounding her. There had to be at least five.

She started with diplomatics. "I'd like to be going now."

The leader, as she presumed, said, "You won't be going anywhere, dollface."

Rhiannon reached for her katana, but a sniggering youth caught her wrist. He was fairly strong, and when she tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, he only held on tighter. The rest of the gang laughed derisively.

"Unhand me, uncivilized delinquent."

"Ohoh," one of the brutes laughed.

Rhiannon smirked in the dim light, hopped her arm out of the boy's clutches, and whipped out her katana, downing three of the thugs in the process.

"Any other takers?" she asked the remaining two boys who were dumbstruck at her speed. They ran pell-mell and barely clambered over the brick wall at the end of the alley. 

It was four in the morning, and Rhiannon had been wandering aimlessly for nearing five hours. She sat down on one of the few vacant park benches and watched the early birds scratching in the grass. Sleep was still her enemy but had not attempted any sieges or attacks since two days before. She had two days until her meeting with the most powerful of exiles, and she was more than anxious. 

The sun rose and set.

Rhiannon lay sprawled out on a cheap motel bed. The alarm clock went off at one. Rhiannon opened one eye, slammed the clock to the floor, and rolled over. The clock had the sense enough to shut up.

Two o'clock.  
Three o'clock.  
Four o'clock.  
Five o'clock.  
Six o'clock.  
Seven o'clock.   
"Stop," she mumbled.

She woke up ten minutes later. The sun was dark and her room dim. "Oh bloody hell," she mumbled. "What freaking time is it?"

She lifted the battered alarm clock, read it, and cursed. She had wanted to look for some suitable outfit to wear to her rendezvous, but she had overslept considerably.

"Damn you, alarm clock. Now I shall have to use the sodding internet. You know why I hate the internet?" she asked the alarm clock, picking it up and carrying it over to the empty table. "It's too easy to spy on people." 

A laptop appeared on the desk as Rhiannon dragged the phone cord over to it. She opened up internet explorer and found the online mall she wanted.

~@~

"Honey, I can't find my laptop."

"Did you look under the couch, dear?"

"Why would it be under the couch?"

"Then don't look under the couch."

~@~

Two nice sets of clothes later, Rhiannon was headed off for a bar, somewhere. "Now, Clocky," she addressed the Clock, "I want you to be good and sound the alarm if any you-know-whats come by."

"Oh, Gawd, I must be cracking up. I'm talking to a clock."

The air was filled with the hazy smoke vapours one would expect in an old-fashioned gambling parlour, and the faint sound of the Twenties was nearly overridden by the crack of the billiards and the slapping of cards. The occasional clacking and scracking of roulette was not to be outdone, however, and could be heard over every bit of low conversation. Rhiannon herself was not interested in gambling as she was drinking, and although she was still sixteen, a fake id was not hard to procure. She sat down on a barstool near a suited man who looked vaguely familiar and yet completely strange to her sight. After her third glass of scotch, the man ordered her brandy.

"You lost?" he asked after she had taken a sip.

She gave him a strange look before answering. "Yeah, I am kinda," she said.

"Did you ever wonder if any of this was worth it?"

The man was clearly either drunk or miserable. Or perhaps both. Still, Rhiannon answered him truthfully, "Every waking moment."

The man smirked and waved to the bartender for a refill. "I never knew how much I enjoyed the life I had till I lost it. It was simple. All I had to do was follow my orders. There were no personal angles involved." He paused for a while. "What if this world was just a big hoax? Every bit of it?"

Rhiannon didn't know how to answer that question.

"Come off it, girlie. You aren't a rebel; don't pretend to have no idea what I'm after."

"You must be—"

"Yes, I am. And no, I won't."

"Won't what?"

"Nevermind, kid. What matters is that you don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Yeah. Like blowing up the agency."

Rhiannon winced. "Why would I do that?"

"Revenge," the suited, sunglassed, brown-haired man said. "Sweet, unattainable revenge." Again he paused. "You can't have it. Revenge is pointless. There is no way you can force them to feel your loss."

Rhiannon felt the truth in the ex-agent's words.

"But you _can_ make them wish they'd never existed," he declared with malice.

The man was going crazy with rage or something; he nearly shattered the glass in his hand, his grip was so tight.

"Or you could do something constructive," Rhiannon said thoughtfully. "You could work against them, to make sure that they can't harm another the same way."

The man turned on her, his fiery, frigid gaze stinging through his shades. "That benefits the whole reason why we're here. And that is not revenge."

The man was angry with both sides, obviously. He blamed one for the other, and vice versa.

Rhiannon tried to reason with the man. "It can't be possible to fight both sides at once. Why not just take revenge on the agency? And destroy it?"

"I don't care if the agency remains. That's not as important as punishing the one reason we're here anyways. The pestilence, the plague, the cancer, the virus—"

"The humans?" Rhiannon offered.

"Call them what you like, but they are the enemy, they are the foe. It is because of them that I have to deal with the nonsense that is reality. It is because of them you cannot lead a normal life."

Rhiannon's heart stung. He had just found the chink in her righteous armour. Her life had been interrupted and stopped altogether, just for a war.

"Come," he said, turning and offering her his hand. "Join me and we can rule this world. Together."

Suspecting drunkenness in the agent, Rhiannon simply stared at his hand. _He couldn't be serious,_ she reasoned.

"Join me," he repeated.

Realizing that the agent was not drunk and that he was not merely talking aloud, she decided to skirt the offer. "You're Agent Smith, aren't you?"

"No," he said, turning back to stare at the liquor bottles on the shelves behind the bar. They glowed dully in the hazy light of the smoke-filled room. If one turned one's head slightly, they very nearly sparkled against their reflections, but the light was just dim and smoky enough to prevent that effect. After several minutes, he said, "I'm Smith …just Smith."

Rhiannon nodded, and looked down at her drink, staring past the wooden counter of the bar.

"They don't deserve to be here. They had their chance; they had their era." Smith was looking around the bar, watching men deal cards and lose at pool.

Biting her tongue, Rhiannon sat in silence. She did not want to listen to the angsty, bitter virus any more than she had to; he had already given her plenty to chew on. After a moment of thought, Rhiannon had an excuse to get away.

"Ah, the time!" she cried, checking her wrist. There was no watch, but she carefully kept her arm out of his gaze as she rushed through an apology before tearing for the door. 

~@~

Scotch sat on her bed, tapping away at her keyboard, running internet searches for eight different things at once. Her good friend Ree had disappeared nearly a year before. No-one spoke about her, or about anything related to her. Sometimes Scotch wondered if Ree had been only her imagination. Even her twin never mentioned her, and Duct always told her exactly what she was thinking.

Scotch was searching on the internet for fansubs of Fushigi Yugi, spoilers for Harry Potter VI, purple hair dye, MRIs for Biology 2, scanlations of Ranma Half, a new car, her lost friend Ree, and a man called Morpheus. So far the only profitable search was Fushigi Yugi, which was yielding several promising websites. No new spoilers for the best book in the world, no decent hair dye… her biology homework was nowhere _near_ completed. Those MRI scans were essential to her presentation, but she could not find them. _It's__ just as well,_ she thought, looking at the clock. _It's__ nearly __four am__._ She shut down her laptop and crawled under her blankets. Scotch snuggled into her comforter as she fell into a deep sleep of reassuring dreams.

~@~

Mandarin collars rarely gave Rhiannon any trouble, and when they did, she usually took it as an omen of strife. She had no idea why she did this, seeing as how she rarely wore shirts with Mandarin collars. Ripping it off, Rhiannon snarled at the outfit that she had summoned. She tossed it aside with a righteous sniff and summoned another. This one bore a similar collar, and as she attempted to put it on, it gave her trouble, too. Disgusted with her clothing, she threw it away from herself, as if it were some repulsive rodent. She summoned several more outfits but found none suitable. She wanted to appear as the dauntingly sophisticated assassin she was supposed to be. She wanted to seem fearless and untouchable, like a wild mustang. All of the clothes she had attempted to don were bugged her in one way or another. This one's collar was too tight, that one's waist was too high, this one's belt sat funny, that one's colors made her look yellow, this one's shoulders were constricting, that one's ribbon got in her eyes, this one's sleeves got in her way, that one's hem was scratchy. Not one of the things she had summoned made her feel comfortable and mobile, yet gave off the sophistication she desired.

Eventually, she gave up and sat on her bed, wrapping herself in a blanket. Turning to Clocky she said, "I hate clothes."

Clocky answered by moving his long arm one sixtieth of a degree.

"I agree, Clocky. I should just go like this," she looked down at the woolen blue blanket. "Or maybe not."

Her cell phone rang, causing Rhiannon to jump nearly to hit her head on the ceiling, but only nearly. She eyed the phone warily, but answered anyways.

"Hello?"

"You," stated a girlish voice on the other end. "Are you called Robot Jones?"

"Um… no."

"Good. Don't come see the Merovingian today. Don't come tomorrow either."

"What?" Rhiannon asked, confused. "Why? Why not? What happened?"

"Don't come. Because I told you not to. Because the Merovingian will not help you. Because he found out what you are."

Rhiannon blinked. The girl had answered each of her questions. This was confusing. "What do you mean? Who are you?" Rhiannon asked, bewildered. She heard voices on the other end.

"Pan, what are you doing?" one voice asked. The same voice said incredulously, "Pan? What the hell?" The voice changed tone again and said, "Who are you talking to?" The second tone said, "You aren't allowed to use the phone," and was finished by the first tone. "Without permission. Remember?" Rhiannon heard the girl answer, "I'm talking to someone. And don't call me Pan, too." 

"Put the phone down, Pan." "No more pizzas from Italia."

"To-oo."

"Gimme that."

The phone was snatched away and fumbled about before being slammed onto the base. Rhiannon blinked.

"Clocky," she said, turning to her beloved red alarm clock. "That was really, really weird."

~@~

Rhiannon had not given up on mysterious, assassin-like clothes, and she eventually settled on a pair of black silk pants and a red cap sleeved tunic. Clocky apparently approved of the gold embroidery on the tunic, because Rhiannon spent several minutes modeling it for him. Then she realized that Clocky was telling her that it was nearly time for her appointment. She snatched her knapsack, shoved her cellphone, her teddy, and Clocky inside before dashing out the door, pulling the chain across with her mind as she sprinted for the elevator.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

So… I hope you liked it, gimme some feedback, a nice comment, I dunno, help please! I ain't to sure about the way Rhiannon's comin' across. Tell me whatcha think or want, and I'll do my best ta make it happen. Ja!


	13. Close Encounters

A/N: Huhi! We are unnaturally hyper right now! Unfortunately, my story is only going to get depressing from here, so if you want to skip away and keep you joy, that's fine with me, but I do wish to say that the end will be happy. I promise that the end will be happy. Love from your author! (reviews are like sugar….)

D/C: We've been through this already! You're worse than my shrink!!! (not that I have one, or need one, but it's the thought that counts)

Chapter 13: Close Encounters

Rhiannon checked the business card for the thousandth time before stepping out of the metro and climbing the stairs into the bright sunlight. She slipped into a store to check herself in the bathroom's mirror. She morphed her knapsack to a small black backpack, which she slung over both shoulders before summoning her katana and gun belt. She left the store with a second glance from the clerk.

When she reached the fancy office building, Rhiannon took a deep breath, and stepped through the revolving door. She fixed a reckless expression on her face, hoping that her eyes glinted with the look of a hungry killer. 

Rhiannon was about to step onto the elevator when she heard someone behind her shout, "Rhiannon, no!"

Rhiannon stopped short. A small white blur leapt in front of her.

"I told you not to come!" a blonde five-year-old scolded. "Quick, leave!"

"What are you talking about?" Rhiannon asked quietly, trying to maintain her killer's composure.

The little girl said excitedly, "M'name's Pandora and I'm telling you not to go upstairs. He'll pick you to pieces!"

Rhiannon scrutinized the girl for a moment or two before deciding to take her advice. _She seems earnest enough,_ she reasoned. She turned on her heel and left, muttering, "Alright."

"Hey! I just saved your life!" the girl called after her. "Aren't'cha gonna thank me?"

Just before stepping into the ever-bright sun, Rhiannon turned back and said, "Thanks," as she slipped on a pair of sunglasses. She stepped outside through the brass revolving doors and summoned her cellphone to her hand. She had begun to dial the Merovingian's number when two identical, freak-white men knocked her down as they tore down the walk. 

"Hey you! Watch out!" she yelled at them as she got to her feet. 

They turned into the office building out of which she had just walked, and Rhiannon realized that they had to belong to the Merovingian. She shook her head as she dusted herself off, and, sighing, she made her way to the subway.

As she got ready to step onto the metro, she noticed a relatively large group of people in similar eccentric clothes step off.

Deciding that they were rebels, Rhiannon started after them. There was a vaguely recognizable man in their number. She could not place his face as she trailed them. She knew she had seen him before, somewhere, anywhere…

The group split. The man went right; the rest went straight. Rhiannon decided to follow him; she needed to know who he was. After two blocks and a turn, he whipped around impossibly fast and threw her into the brick of the building they were passing. He held her there, by her throat. Rhiannon could not breathe. Her mind wandered aimlessly. _So odd really, that I breathe and the Agents do not. So odd that I require human necessities. Maybe I am human. I hope I am._ The man's face contorted as he whipped a gun out of his coat. No time had passed, but Rhiannon's mind had wandered far off into the realms of LaLa Land. She was dwelling on her past when a sudden thought expelled every other one. _That's__ the guy from Dahr's office._

"Why are you following me?" he demanded, cocking his pistol.

Rhiannon did not notice, but continued to stare. It had to be Anderson. It just had to be. Ever so quietly she whispered, "You're the One."

Recognition registered in his eyes as he understood that she knew him. "And you are?" he requested with cold and cruel malice.

"I need to speak with you." So quiet, her voice…

"Who are you?" he asked again, his gun inching closer to her forehead.

Rhiannon found her voice, and her strength. She space hopped beside him. "I will speak with you." The presence of the other rebels registered on the edges of her consciousness, and she felt their location. She space hopped to them, to wait. The One would be coming shortly…

~@~

The rebels stood about the room, milling around until their recruit showed up. Morpheus shouted from the other room, and every one of the six of them felt their daydreams evaporate as they rushed to his aide, all pointing their guns on a teenage girl, dressed in the clothes of a trained assassin. Eight guns cocked, ready to fire, all aimed at the girl, who looked mildly around, drinking in her surroundings. Three of the eight recognized her as the one who had followed them, who had followed Neo. At that moment Neo burst through the door, two pistols focused on the one point in the center of the room. Suddenly the silence was broken by the girl…

"Such gravity… How did I get so dense?" she asked, trailing off. She was making sense only unto herself. She turned to face Neo. "You are the One. I will talk to you now."

All eyes looked to Neo for explanation, and when none was given, to Morpheus for approval. Neo and the girl left the room, making their way to a room across the hall.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Rhiannon did not answer, but she looked at the fading, peeling wallpaper. "The worship of the Past is forbidden."

Neo did not understand, who could understand someone who had been so coherent minutes earlier, but now sounded as crazy as a lark? He waited for her to continue. In his experience, a program (as he assumed that she was) always elaborated.

"I'm not an oracle, but I can tell what you're waiting for. Odd, really. Never could do that before… I'm A20—they've brainwashed me. I'm Rhiannon. I've never introduced myself that way before. Funny. My name is Rhiannon, Rhiannon Aenigma. You are the One." A statement. She asked, "What is your name, by the way? I've only ever heard you referred to as Anderson."

"My name is Neo."

"That's good and well, Neo. I'm Rhiannon." The wallpaper must have been very interesting. "I'm not a program."

The One raised his eyebrow. Impossible.

"At least I don't think. But I can help you. I have to. I need to tell you about the Matrix."

Neo said, coldly, "I know what it is."

Rhiannon looked at him, scrutinizing, glaring, studying. Neo was cocky, impetuous, to her eyes. "I said about," she corrected. "About it. There is a new experiment. A new line of programs. They can change the coordinates of any object within the Matrix, themselves, other people, phones. Not even you would stand a chance against them. Everything about them is perfect. They live for death. They are the new Reapers. They are called A-lines. A for assassin. They can feel your presence within the Matrix, feel you jack in, feel you blink, breathe, move. They feel you think. They sense rebels, they appear at their location. They destroy them. Not one is left standing. This experiment is almost ready for release. In only a few months time, they will be unleashed and within a week, every rebel who jacks in to the Matrix will be terminated, killed, murdered. I want to help you destroy them."

"What's in it for you?"

"Peace of mind." She paused. Rhiannon's words sank in. She continued after several minutes. "I have something else. I don't know how I got it. Or when, but the idea just struck me. Divine intervention. Your friend told you something once. Something about a door and a key and problems."

Neo remembered his experience on the cloudy day nearly a year before. Or maybe it was only six months… The girl! He remembered Rhiannon! She had been at that school, something about her had made him watch her. Something struck him as odd, but he had not been able to place it. She had taught her friends biology…

Rhiannon was still talking. "I'll give you a key to the apartment when you help me."

Neo was nodding, agreeing. She would help the rebels, but in return for what? "What is it you want?" he asked.

Rhiannon seemed caught off guard. After a moment, she answered, "I want help in my task."

"What task?"

"It is mine, one no one can help me with. But you can help me get there."

"How?"

"Later, later. For now you must return to your crew and tell them what I have told you. It is up to your captain to decide whether to help me or not. Here," Rhiannon said as she summoned a small piece of paper with her cell number scrawled on it and handed it to Neo.

"What is it?"

"My number. Call me when you have your answer. Remember, all I want is my peace of mind, which is the completion of my task."

~@~

After the rebels left, with their newest member, Rhiannon pulled out Clocky. She wound him, and she said, "Clocky, I feel dumb. I just told some rebel a bunch of cryptic bull crap and I can't think of why. I barely know what I'm talking about. It's almost as if someone else was talking for me. But that's nonsense, isn't it Clocky?" Rhiannon sighed and hopped back to her motel room.

-}^^#~@~#^^{-

So there you are, next chapter is being revised, so it should be up soon! Please review, I appreciate all feedback!


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